


Johnlock Ficlet Collection

by purpleplusher



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock Roulette, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 05:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16867207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleplusher/pseuds/purpleplusher
Summary: This is a compilation of my Johnlock ficlets that have been earlier posted on tumblr. Little snippets from their life that may or may not be canon-compliant. Each one of them can be read as a stand alone. Hope you enjoy!





	1. In the faded moments...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A canon-compliant of The Hug scene from the lying detective.

John slowly disentangles himself from Sherlock’s embrace but Sherlock doesn’t let him go completely. His hands trace down the line of his shoulders and settle on his forearms. A cautious hold.

John does a futile attempt to rub away the wetness on his face and looks up at Sherlock with bleary eyes. Sherlock’s gaze is blooming with concern and something else. Something he has seen before many times but it never hit him before like it does at this moment. One of his eye is displaying the colors of an abstract art. Black, blue,  _red_ , white. John averts his gaze to the wound near his left eyebrow and down to his bruised cheekbone to his nose to his slightly swollen lower lip. He winces internally. He painted this horrid picture on the canvas of Sherlock’s beautiful face. With  _blood_.

Succumbing to an uncontrollable impulse, he raises a hand and his fingers graze against the damaged skin of Sherlock’s eyebrow in a feather-light touch. Sherlock freezes instantly and his lids drop with the weight of pain that has nothing to do with the wound on his eyebrow.

‘Does it hurt?’

The break in John’s voice is hardly unnoticeable. Sherlock shows no sign of response as if turned to stone by the mere touch of John’s fingers.  _Oh Sherlock_ , John thinks and rises on his tiptoes to kiss that hurt spot.

The urge to smooth away every edge of his broken skin overtakes him. He lightly kisses that spot again and again and with every kiss, there is a silent whisper of  _'I am sorry’_. Each brush of lips blows life into the stilled man beneath him. He kisses his eyebrow, over his closed eyelid, across his bruised cheekbone, the side of his nose, his swollen lower…

'John.’

It’s more of a breathy exhale than a name, like he has finally come to life. John stops dead in his track. Somehow his other hand had reached up to hold Sherlock’s face from one side and now he is standing too close to him, his lips an inch away from Sherlock’s. The cold air released from Sherlock’s mouth rushes over his own when the realization hits him.  _He was about to kiss Sherlock._

It’s maddening how the whole situation made him vulnerable enough to let down his guards and let the affection he always held for this man flow through. But he can’t..he can’t do this. He probably has lost the right to be even standing in such an intimate position with this man, given what happened the last time.

Sherlock slowly opens his eyes and sees a slideshow of emotions running over John’s face. There is guilt, concern, grief, embarrassment but most of all, there is  _love_. He can read it in the fluttering set of his lashes and the shade that has crept its way up his cheeks and the brimming desire in his eyes that is about to spill over. Sherlock can’t help but smile. With so much love emanating from every pore of  _his_  John, he hardly needs to be the only consulting detective in the world to draw the final conclusion.

Sherlock kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/purpleplusher) and send me prompts if you want more of these!


	2. Christmas Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives Sherlock a gift. Sherlock considers reciprocating.

‘John this - this is..’

Sherlock is holding an elegant silver box showcasing a set of black cuff links with the organic structure of adrenaline molecule carved on it. He is at a loss of words to precisely explain how besotted he is by such a meaningful gesture.

'You like it? I had to search seven different shops to find a christmas present for you. It’s bloody exhausting! But then I found these and thought that they’d compliment your extremely posh suits.’

John smiles and before Sherlock is given a chance to formulate a sensible response, he cranes up his neck and steals the gratitude right away from his lips.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Sherlock lies on his couch the next evening and mulls over the idea of reciprocating John’s gesture. He should buy a gift for John too to portray his thankfulness but the lack of experience in such a field proves to be troublesome. A quick scan through his mind palace becomes insufficient since John already has almost everything of general use. He turns over in a rather irritated fashion and tries all over again.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Mrs. Hudson walks-in on them out of the blue one afternoon when they’ve been snogging each other senseless against the wall for an indeterminate amount of time. Nothing unusual for her so she places the tray of freshly baked scones on the table and walks out with an uncontrollable glee.

'Well that was a first.’ John remarks in a playful tone when he has gained his senses back. Sherlock cracks a private smile and just stares at the ruffled state of his lover. It’s an endearing sight to witness Captain John Watson flushed upto the tip of his ears.

John raises a hand to massage the back of his neck and along the line of his left shoulder, probably because it got strained enough for the day. Sherlock traces every movement with his eyes and plans to investigate further on this matter that discomforts John.

\- - - - - - - - -

'Sherlock, why is there a shoe box delivered at our door step?’

Sherlock steps out of their bedroom, yawning and stretching his limbs. He glances at the said box and shrugs his shoulders.

'It’s a gift, John. Surely you can see the bow and card on top of it.’

'I can see that, love. But it has your initials on it. May I dare ask who is the lucky person to receive a gift from Sherlock Holmes?’

Sherlock’s eyes nearly roll out of their sockets as he huffs out a breath.

'Must you remind me of your idiocy at such an early hour of the morning John? It’s for you.’

The 'obviously’ implied at the end of the sentence is an indication enough for John to open the box without muttering another word. It holds a pair of high-quality tan leather shoes in a size perfect for his feet. John abruptly removes his own shoes to try this exquisite foot wear while Sherlock side-eyes the whole procedure with pretended disinterest.

As soon as he steps into the shoes, his height raises a considerable amount and he rubs his feet against the sole to find out why. The shoes are extra padded in the heel region to add a few inches to the height of its wearer without causing discomfort.

'Is this a new way to mock me?’ Sherlock snaps his head up in surprise. The resentment in John’s voice is hardly indiscernible.

'What? No - no John. I just noticed for the past few days that whenever you kiss me while standing, the height difference adds to the tautness of your neck muscles and alleviates the ache in your shoulder. Based on the data I collected for two weeks, this was a simple enough solution to relieve that pain.’

John is thrown off-kilter by this gentle act coming from the person standing in front of him whom the world declares as a psychopath. It’s such an unusual expression of love that his lips stretch into one of his widest grin as he steps closer to a clueless Sherlock.

'You’re mad, do you know that? Absolutely mad.’ His statement is dribbling with such fondness that Sherlock can barely suppress the color that embellishes his pale skin.

'If this is how you thank people John then I must say-’

John kisses the words out of him yet again and for the first time, he didn’t even have to lift up on the tip of his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/purpleplusher) and send me prompts if you want more of these!


	3. 'Come lie down with me.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short middle-of-the-night caring interlude.

It is one of those nights where the tragic memories of his past prey at his peaceful nap. He can still feel the fragments of a grim nightmare lingering on the edges of his consciousness. Rubbing away the remains of sleep from his eyes, he raises with a great effort and strolls downstairs.

Thankful enough not to find Sherlock awake at this hour of the night, he tiptoes his way into the kitchen, careful not to wake that insomnolent creature. He makes himself a cup of tea to soothe his itching nerves and takes a sip to check-

‘John?’

The hot liquid splashes onto the left side of his body and the cup gravitates straight to the floor as he abruptly turns around.

'Oh - ouch.’ Sherlock runs to him and grasps his left hand to inspect the damage. He trails his fingertips over the scalded areas of the back of his hand upto his forearm, without uttering a word. John hisses into the quietness as he touches a tender spot and Sherlock’s eyes flinch in a way as if he is the one who got burnt. He switches his attention to the left side of John’s face without really meeting his eyes. John stills under his scrutinizing gaze. It’s so delightfully unsettling to be the sole focus of this glorious being that John forgets all about the dreadfulness of this night.

'Did it fall on your face?’ The concern in his voice rips through John’s heart. He is too smitten to form a proper answer so he shakes his head instead. Sherlock doesn’t look satisfied. He leans closer and blows a cool breath across the left side of his face. John inhales sharply and calms himself enough to understand how a cool breath of air can burn stronger than a boiling cup of tea.

Sherlock gauges his reaction as painful and draws back to walk into the bathroom and fetch the first aid kit. He brings it into the kitchen where John stands frozen at his place. Without a word, he opens the tap and takes John’s hand again to place under running water. It’s no more than a first-degree burn. Sherlock dries his hand gently afterwards and picks a topical local anesthetic to apply on the hurt areas while John stares at him in bewilderment.

'Come lie down with me.’ Sherlock states after a while in a simple manner without taking his eyes off the burnt skin. It’s not a plea, not a command. Just a quiet statement to let John know that he understands. The agony of tragic pasts and sleepless nights. He understands all of it.

John’s lips break into a bittersweet smile as his chest swells with adoration for this man. This man who deduced him right to the depth of his core without even so much as a look. He turns his hand in Sherlock’s hold and tugs at it. With their faces close enough for their breaths to intermingle, John murmurs a soft thank you right against his lips. Sherlock welcomes it with a smile.

And after sharing a sweet kiss for an uncertain period, Sherlock holds out his hand and gestures towards his room. Blissful over the turnings of this night, John complies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/purpleplusher) and send me prompts if you want more of these!


	4. 'Sherlock Holmes and flirting?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John agrees to a bet with Lestrade. Will he win?

‘Sherlock Holmes and flirting? I think you’ve drunk way too much, mate.’ Lestrade puts down his glass and cackles over John’s remark.

'Say whatever you wanna say. But I think if he wants to, he can woo anyone with his charms. Wanna bet?’ A challenging look is thrown in John’s direction and he straightens up.

'The bet sure in on.’ They both smile and as they clink their glasses together, a lanky figure exits the pub unnoticed, it’s dark coat flapping behind.

\- - - - - - - - - -

John steps out of the bathroom all flushed when he accidentally collides with a yawning Sherlock.

'Oh sorry! Didn’t know you were up.’

'It’s quite alright.’ Sherlock replies in a sleep-laced voice. There’s something ungulpable about his tone that John isn’t able to figure out. It’s…velvety. Or maybe he is just mistaking the softness of his voice for something else. His trail of thoughts is broken when Sherlock leans in close to his neck without a warning and inhales deeply.

'Mmm. New cologne? Smells good.’ He steps back with a satisfied grin and walks away just like that, completely oblivious to John’s frantic heart rate.

\- - - - - - - - - -

The suspect is finally caught after hopping around the roofs of London for an hour. John feels buzzed with energy that he hasn’t felt in a long time, even though his limbs are nearly giving up. The set of his shoulders is loosened and the thought of crawling into a deep slumber is almost divine.

Apparently, someone sensed his exhaustion because a warm hand curls around his back in the most tender manner. John turns to look up.

'Let’s get you back to bed, shall we?’ Sherlock whispers so close to his ear that he can feel the hot breath condensing on his skin.

John nods, and if his insides just flipped over this bizzarely intimate gesture, he is going to blame it on post-chase adrenaline.

\- - - - - - - - - - -

It’s been twenty minutes and he still can’t decide the right dress to wear at his colleague’s upcoming wedding. Standing in front of the mirror in the living room, he places another shirt against his front.

'That one is hideous. You should bin it right away.’ John gasps to find out Sherlock standing right behind him, frowning at the said shirt. He doesn’t dare turn around for the risk of collapsing into him. After glancing around his outfits, Sherlock holds up a dark blue shirt against John from behind and aligns a sleeve over his right arm.

'It looks better. Compliments your eyes.’ Flattered would be too less of a word to describe what Sherlock’s remark does to him. He tames his wild breathing and through the reflection, looks directly at Sherlock.

'What are you trying to do?’

'Helping you make a decision. Isn’t it obvious?’ John huffs.

'Sherlock. You know what I am talking about.’ Sherlock sighs in exasperation and inches away.

'You bet Lestrade that I can’t flirt. So I am trying to “ _flirt you up_ ” John, as the internet calls it. Ridiculous.’ He throws the shirt on the sofa and tries to walk away when a strong grasp on his wrist freezes him.

'Is that what this was all about?’ The mirth in his voice is barely concealable as he brings himself closer to Sherlock. John raises and rubs his nose against Sherlock’s scrunched one in a slow and deliberate motion, while murmuring  _you gorgeous bastard_ all along.

'John… Are you - are you flirting with me?’ Sherlock exhales with difficulty.

'Is it working? A meaningful smirk streches across John’s lips as he continues his course along his jaw.

Instead of saying yes, a kiss, Sherlock deems, would be a much appropriate answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/purpleplusher) and send me prompts if you want more of these!


	5. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is the doctor but Sherlock is the one who mends. Inspired by [this](http://alessiapelonzi.tumblr.com/post/84990491400) masterpiece.

_Numb_. That’s all he can feel. Or may be he doesn’t feel any thing at all. It was rather the point, wasn’t it? Drinking to a state of oblivion such that he doesn’t remember being an unfaithful husband to his dead wife or an irresponsible father to his daughter or a miserable companion to his only best friend. And now he definitely isn’t thinking about any of it. Except there is nothing else for him to think about.

When he was a child, he yearned to become strong, confident, indestructible; just like his favorite superhero. That is what lead him to join the army so he could become a man so tough nothing could shake him. And he did. Blow after blow, he survived. But the most painful hit was when Sherlock jumped off the roof of Bart’s hospital. While he was still raw from that incident alone, Mary was shot dead too. The pain of witnessing your beloved die right in front of your eyes is indescribable. And he had to go through it twice. So it’s not entirely a surprise that he drank too hard to even forget about his own existence.

But how is it that he is standing at the door of 221b and the man there just glances at him once and averts his gaze, as if it physically hurts to look into his eyes for more than a second. May be it does because the next moment, a lonely tear runs along his cheek down to his neck, leaving a wet trail behind. It is perplexing that he is the wounded one and that other man aches on his behalf.

Quietly, the man gathers him into his arms and just like that, the dam he had been building around himself for years breaks open. He shatters all over again and his entire being gives up. But the man makes him lie down across himself and holds him close not to let a single piece fall away. Once he has broken down completely, that man picks each one of his pieces and mends it back with the touch of his fingers and the caress of his lips. He melts into this familiar warmth and after a long enough time, breathes. Instead of the rustic smell of blood and dust, it is a scent of all things beautiful. Like love and hope and laughter. John smiles. A long-wretched soldier has finally arrived  _home_.


End file.
